


My Own Personal Nursery Rhyme

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Appalachian's 2020 Whumptober [31]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Dad Hotch, Ending Whumptober with a lot of whump today haha, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Spencer Reid Whump, Spencer's pretty brilliant here even if it isn't explicit, Whump, Whumptober 2020, bullet wounds, there's a lot of dad hotch here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27306799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: Spencer has a lot of bad luck. Really, really, really bad luck.Day 31: Left For Dead
Series: Appalachian's 2020 Whumptober [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948174
Comments: 53
Kudos: 315
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	My Own Personal Nursery Rhyme

**Author's Note:**

> HOLY SHIT IT'S ALREADY THE 31ST  
> *ahem* Happy Hallow's Eve, everyone!  
> Before we get into this last story, I just want to give an extra thanks to [BrightTerror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightTerror/pseuds/BrightTerror) for helping me literally every single day, and for being there every day for me!! I'd also like to thank [word_clay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/word_clay/pseuds/word_clay) for writing with me, and for making a lovely fanart for this fic :D Both of these lovely ladies have their own Whumptobers, and you should definitely check them out if you haven't already!!
> 
> More on the ending a/n, but for now, Enjoy!! :D

The women of the BAU left with quite the fanfare, excitement of a ladies night radiating from them. Walking between Emily and JJ, Garcia swings her sparkly bag, talking about a new bar near her apartment. Joining them in the elevator, Morgan laughs at her rather vivid explanations.

After an hour has passed, Rossi drags Hotch out of his office, promising him that the paperwork will be there tomorrow, and Jack’s waiting at home for him. Although there’s a nasty glare somewhere in there, Hotch ends up leaving the office, grabbing a quick refill of coffee.

Spencer’s face is scrunched up in confusion when Rossi pulls him out of his thought process. “How’re you doing, kid?”

Blinking, Spencer replies, “Fine. Why?”

“‘Cause it’s eight thirty on a Friday and you’re still at work,” Rossi points out. “What’re you still doing here?”

Furrowing his brow, the younger agent admits, “Just looking through the case. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Probably because you haven’t slept in a day,” Rossi grumbles. “Go home. Get some sleep. It’ll still be on Monday.”

Nodding, Spencer admits, “I think I will, after this file.”

“Just get some sleep,” Rossi requests, turning around to head out the glass doors. “I’ll see you later, kid.”

“See you.” Spencer answers, still eyeing the file in front of him.

A few minutes after Rossi has left, Spencer stands up to grab an extra cup of coffee. There’s something about their past case that just doesn’t sit right with him. It might be the fact that it was a local case, so it feels like it never ends. The staple of heading back on the jet is something that Spencer’s gotten used to, and the never ending pattern of cases doesn’t feel right without it.

Just as Spencer reaches for a clean mug, the lights flicker twice before turning off. Quantico’s emergency generator starts up a moment later, but it still puts Spencer on edge. He knows the exact last date they had a blackout at Quantico, and it’s not something that happens everyday. Nearly a decade ago was from a hail storm.

But the weather is clear right now.

Spencer internally curses, wishing he had his weapon with him, instead of leaving it in his messenger bag by his desk. Then again, ordinarily he wouldn’t need a gun to get coffee.

There’s a single set of footsteps, before the glass door is pulled open, revealing a man. From everything that Spencer was expecting, he’s aggressively average. It’s a white male, brown hair, medium build, and around six feet tall. 

He’s also holding a pistol.

Despite Spencer’s training, he doesn’t talk before the man does. “Doctor Reid?”

Scrunching his eyes up, he questions, “Who are you?”

“I’m here to kill you.” He announces.

A million different outcomes soar through his head, and Spencer works in double time to find a safe way out of this. He won’t reach his gun in time, and his aim isn’t good enough for him to chuck a coffee mug across the room. Which only leaves talking-

A  _ bang! _ silences him, first out of shock, and then out of pain.

Spencer’s body falls to the floor before his brain catches up. By the time it does, the man has already gone, and the only evidence left is the door swinging closed and the bullet in Spencer’s gut.

Moving to put pressure on the wound, Spencer’s world grays out for a fraction of a second, but it’s long enough for his head to fall back down. He can feel a steady stream of blood flowing from his stomach, far too fast. As he presses his hands down on his stomach, Spencer can feel each beat of his heart push out more blood, which just makes him want to vomit.

Even with the extra pressure, Spencer knows that he’s losing far too much blood. With the blackout, no one will find him from the security cameras, which only leaves him with two options:

One, he can stay on the ground and hope someone randomly decides to take a stroll through the sixth floor at nearly 9:00 at night,

Or Two, he makes it to his messenger bag to retrieve his cell phone so he can call for help. 

This choice is obvious. If he’s going to die, he doesn’t want it to be from lying on the ground after giving up, accepting his death.

However as Spencer pushes himself up to his knees, he’s pretty sure that he won’t have a choice. The bullet sitting in his gut shifts around, and Spencer can’t help but yell out in pain. It’s a worse agony than anything he’s ever experienced before, if his blurry vision is anything to go by.

The only thing Spencer can feel is molten lava in his stomach. For all he knows, he might not even have any limbs. The pain clouds any other nerve ending, forcing Spencer to hyper focus on his wound. Rather unfortunate as he’s attempting to ignore it.

He gets up to his knees, but that’s as far as he can go. The thought of bringing not one, but two feet under him to stand up almost hurts as much as the actual wound. Spencer attempts to shuffle on his knees, but it’s very quickly clear that it won’t work.

It’s only when he feels something trickle down his leg that Spencer realizes that somewhere along the process he stopped putting pressure on his wound. When he moves his hand back on, he tries to groan through the pain, but it doesn’t work as well as he had hoped.

Attempting to take a deep breath, Spencer tries to continue his shuffling, but ends up losing his balance and falls on his side. The world goes out of focus for a second, but it soon becomes ten, thirty, and when Spencer finally gets his barings back, over a minute has passed.

Below him, blood pools on the floor, and there’s a small trail from the short distance he was almost able to get through. Deep red puddles find their way into the crevices between the tiles of the kitchen area, and Spencer wonders how much money is going to be spent on the cleaning service because of him.

It’d have to be a lot.

Blood stains are a pain to get out.

Spencer curses when he realizes he’s stopped putting pressure on his wound, and quickly reapplies it, even though at this point he’s sure that it isn’t helping much. Right now, he needs to be getting to his phone, or he isn’t going to have a chance.

The twenty feet to his desk have never seemed longer than they do right now.

Spencer pushes himself up onto his butt with a pained whimper, before staying there to catch his breath. Even the smallest bit of exertion feels like he’s run two marathons, back to back. He takes another breath.

With one hand on his stomach, Spencer tries to awkwardly scoot along the tiles, which ends up working better than he thought it would. Between the tiles and the slippery blood, there’s barely any friction between his pants and the floor, and he’s able to make good distance.

The problem arises when the kitchenette ends, along with the tiles.

Spencer has studied enough physics to know why his plan of butt scooting won’t work. The coefficient of friction will be too high once he gets off of the tiles, and now that he’s stopped, Spencer won’t even have any inertia to help him.

An object at rest will stay at rest.

And at the moment, Spencer’s sure that the line connecting the bullpen to the kitchenette will be his final resting place.

Nevertheless, Spencer tries to keep moving. Blood continues to pour out of his body like a sick fountain, and he doesn’t even have enough energy to press down hard enough.

There’s still a whole fifteen feet to get to his messenger bag, and Spencer can already feel his eyes wanting to slip close. It reminds him of when he was fourteen, the evening after pulling his first all-nighter to study.

Coffee won’t help him here though.

Spencer falls back on his elbows, and he doesn’t have enough energy to pull himself back up to a sitting position. Sweat covers his brow as he holds himself up, but soon he loses that battle, and collapses all of the way down to the floor.

The ceilings are surprisingly high, Spencer thinks to himself. He hasn’t spent much time looking up at the bullpen ceilings, but they’re quite nice. The bottom of his shirt and pants slowly soak up blood as he lays, making Spencer rather uncomfortable.

When Spencer can barely keep his eyes open, he knows that he has to do one last hurrah in an effort to save himself. Originally, it was reaching his phone. Now it’s simply prolonging the inevitable.

With the strength of an ox, Spencer is able to rip and bunch up pieces of his shirt, before holding them to his stomach. And then, with all of the energy he has left, Spencer forces himself to roll onto his stomach, ensuring that the bits of shirt are putting pressure on the bullet wound.

With a shallow breath, Spencer lets his eyes slip close.

He’s done the best he can.

*

For security purposes, even the security guards at Quantico are FBI agents. Sure, they don’t have as exciting lives as the field agents, but they still have their moments.

For Agent Avalos, his moment is when the power comes back on, lightening up his computer screens. He isn’t even sure if he’s seeing the picture correctly, and he zooms in to make sure.

Eyes wide, Agent Avalos clutches the phone and quickly dials. “We need an ambulance.”

*

There’s a prick in the side of Spencer’s thigh, and he isn’t really sure what it is.

All he knows is that he’s suddenly awake, and there are far too many pairs of hands trying to touch him. If only he had enough energy to bat them off. Instead, he lazily blinks to try and find whose hands are on him.

“‘Otch?”

“I don’t know who that is, but we’ll try and find him, okay?”

With another lazy blink, Spencer lets his eyes shut again.

“Doctor Reid? Doctor Reid!”

*

Hotch gets the call at 9:30, right after he’s put Jack to bed.

It’s the call that he’s always expecting in one form or another. Every time his phone rings with an unknown number, he’s sure that it’s going to be a somber voice telling him that Jack has died in some terrible accident. That Sean has overdosed. That Jessica has been killed. With every ring of the doorbell he’s half expecting to open it and see a collection of officers with their hats off.

Hotch dreads it every time his phone rings. And today, his fears come true.

The second the call ends, Hotch rings Jessica, hastily apologizing, begging her to stay with Jack because of an emergency. Understandably, she isn’t happy, but Jessica hears the break on Hotch’s voice and heads over anyway.

In the car, Hotch calls up Rossi and tosses his cellphone on the passenger seat. He doesn’t give the older man a chance to speak before he states, “Reid’s in the hospital. Tell the rest of the team.”

There’s a bit of back and forth, but Hotch isn’t paying attention to any of it. Instead he’s weaving through cars, blatantly breaking the speed limit. He’s glad that he isn’t using one of the government issued SUVs with a little sticker on the back that says, “How’s my driving? Call 1-800-700-600!” in obnoxious bubble letters.

Hotch makes it to the hospital in record time, but it doesn’t matter. Spencer’s already been taken back into surgery, and Hotch can’t do anything but sit in a plastic chair and wait for the results of his youngest agent’s life.

Morgan makes it there next, and after bartering with a few of the nurses, he falls into a chair next to Hotch. Other than a quick glance at each other, they don’t acknowledge the other’s presence. 

One by one, the rest of the BAU files in, faces contorted in fear, the occasional tear making its way down their cheeks. It’s going to be a long night for all of them.

*

Spencer wakes to a kind face and a kind smile.

“That’s right honey, open those eyes,”

He complies, peeling his eyelids back as far as he can. Which, admittedly, isn’t very far. “Hmm?”

“Hey there, how are you feeling? Are you in pain?”

There’s something on Spencer’s face, but he can’t really tell what it is. “Where…?”

With a kind voice to match her face, the woman reports, “You’re in a hospital right now, but you’re okay. Just a little banged up. Are you in any pain?”

“Don’ know,” Spencer tiredly replies.

“I need you to stay awake right now, okay? It’s really important to keep your eyes open.”

However sleeping sounds like the best possible plan Spencer’s ever heard, and before he knows it, he’s already drifting back into a deep slumber.

*

The second time Spencer wakes he feels marginally less exhausted.

“Hey Spence,”

Instantly recognizing JJ’s voice, Spencer turns his head to find her. “Hi JJ,”

“How’re you doing?”

Licking his lips, Spencer asks a question of his own, “What happened?”

From the back of the room, Hotch speaks up, surprising Spencer. “Walter Evans had a vendetta with the FBI, BAU specifically. He chose to get his revenge a couple nights ago, and you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Hotch’s arms are crossed, and his face is contorted in anger.

Frowning, Spencer complains, “I’m always in the wrong place at the wrong time,”

“Yeah, you are,” JJ agrees with a smile.

“Wait,”

“Everything okay, Spence?”

Spencer looks back up at Hotch. “You said ‘a couple’ of nights ago. How long have I been out for?”

Holding his hand, JJ replies, “About forty-eight hours.”

“Why? I got shot, right?” Logically, Spencer knows the answer, but he’s still not all in it at the moment. “Did something go wrong with the surgery?”

Sighing, Hotch states, “The surgery went fine, but you developed an infection shortly after, and ended up being moved to the ICU for a little over a day. To be honest, I’m surprised you’re awake right now.”

“The ICU? It was bad, wasn’t it?”

Hotch nods. “You’re okay now.”

Spencer nods, looking at the area around him. “Is this tube inside of me?” He asks, pointing to a rubbery cylinder snaking out from under the blanket in his side.”

“Yeah. Don’t mess with that.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Spencer reports, only half truthful. “Can I have some water?”

Smiling, JJ replies, “Yeah, of course,” Before gently bringing a cup to his lips. Spencer reaches up with his hands, but JJ still does all of the work.

After she puts the cup away, Spencer settles back down into the thin hospital mattress. With a lethargic smile, he admits, “I think ‘m gonna go back to sleep.”

“We’ll be here when you wake up, Spencer.” Hotch replies.

Spencer is already asleep before he can analyze the fact that Hotch called him from his first name.

*

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. Just breathe,”

Spencer complies, but he isn’t sure what’s happening. “Mm?”

“It was just a nightmare, Reid. You’re okay.” Hotch continues, answering a few of the questions that Spencer thinks he should’ve already had the answers to.

Although Spencer doesn’t remember the dream, his jack rabbit heart is enough of a tell. He takes a couple of deep breaths, ignoring how it makes the tube in his side feel.

“There you go,” Hotch nods, giving a rare smile as he sits down in a chair that was previously occupied by JJ. “How are you feeling?”

“Everyone keeps asking me that.”

Raising his eyebrows, Hotch points out, “You are in a hospital,”

“Eh,” Spencer replies. “I feel okay. Kind of sore. I’m not on any narcotics, am I?”

Hotch shakes his head. “No, I made sure of it.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

The two sit in silence for a long few moments before Spencer asks, “What day is it?”

“Monday.” Hotch easily replies. “Early afternoon. Why?”

“Just curious,” Spencer replies, before frowning. “It feels like only a few hours have passed since I got shot.”

“Being unconscious will do that to you,” Hotch muses. “What do you remember?”

“Being shot.” Spencer answers with a smile. “I remember that I didn’t have time to talk him down. He just came in and shot me. Who did you say it was again?”

With a sigh, Hotch answers, “Walter Evans,”

“He wasn’t part of the last case,” Spencer mutters, mostly to himself.

Hotch answers the non-question anyway. “We know. It honestly was just bad luck on your end.”

“Hm.” Spencer hums, thinking about all of the bad luck he’s already endured in his life. At some point it has to start looking up, right? Glancing at Hotch, he reports, “You look tired.”

“I am tired.” Hotch admits before he can stop himself.

Frowning, Spencer questions, “What did you do when I got hurt?”

Motioning to his chair, Hotch replies, “A lot of this.”

“You didn’t go back home?”

“No.” Hotch shakes his head. “At some point Rossi brought me a change of clothes, but I’ve been here the entire time.”

“For me?”

“For you.” Comes the confirmation.

If anything, it makes Spencer more worried. “How bad did I get? When- when I was in the ICU?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Hotch admits, “Bad enough that I had Garcia find your mom’s number.”

That simple sentence tells him everything he needs to know. He’d have to be quite literally dying for Diana to be contacted. And based on Hotch’s reactions, he probably was.

Swallowing, Spencer replies, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being there. The entire time,” Spencer gives a shy grin. “Even if I wasn’t awake for it.”

Hotch gives an affectionate pat on Spencer’s knee. “‘Course. I would never leave my kid alone.”

**Author's Note:**

> You know I had to end with a lot of Dad Hotch xDD  
> Okay! So! I just want to say thank you. Thank you so so so much for all of your continued support on this series! When I started I thought that I would probably make it to around day 14 or 15 before I just completely burnt out, and I'm honestly very surprised (and thrilled) to have made it all the way to the end! I know it sounds cliche, but I wouldn't have been able to do this without all of your guys' support, and I will forever be in your debt! Being able to write 96k words in a month is like a dream come true, and for the very first time in my life I actually feel like writing is something that I could do for the rest of my life.  
> Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you guys <3 <3  
> If you'd like to chat with me, or want updates on my upcoming novella for NaNo, stop by my [tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/appalachianapologies) (AppalachianApologies)
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3


End file.
